


Eyes Wide Open

by teand



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, episode tag 422
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teand/pseuds/teand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Starting the God damned apocalypse wasn't enough? What the hell have you idjits done to yourselves now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> First published in Lj on June 22nd, 2009

Thinking about it later, Dean realized he should have closed his eyes. He'd been face down on the floor with his head buried in his arms when Anna'd got her mojo back and he'd still been blinking away afterimages for the next couple of hours. Trouble was, he just didn't think of Lucifer, Lord of Hell, Demon Numero-uno, and _light_.

Although, admittedly, Lucifer and _burn your retinas out_ wasn't that much of a stretch.

He'd been looking at Sam, caught by the emotions playing across Sam's face, and he'd turned into the light without thinking.

Good thing Sam had actually started to use that oversized brain of his again and, instead of going mana a' mano on the Prince of Darkness or allowing guilt to turn him into an enormous girl, had got them both the hell out of Dodge. And yeah, he'd only gotten his ass in gear after Dean had yelled, _"Sammy, I can't see!"_ but at that point in the proceedings, Dean had been willing take what he could get. Besides, he'd have happily traded being blind for the two of them safe, laying rubber as they headed for the open road.

Okay, maybe not happily but slumped in the passenger seat, listening to the Mustang's throaty roar, Sam's concern wrapped around him like a blanket, he knew damned well things could be worse.

When they got to Bobby's, he let Sam help him into the house. Nearly falling up the porch steps as he groped for the railing got them through the first awkward moments…

_"Starting the God damned apocalypse isn't enough? What the hell have you idjits done to yourselves now?"_

…then they were barely settled around the kitchen table when Bobby told them it was only temporary.

"Bobby, are you _sure_?" Sam sounded like he couldn't unclench his teeth.

"Yeah, I'm sure. According to the texts, only the glory of God is permanent."

"Pamela looked at Castiel and that was pretty damned permanent."

"Pam was using her inner eye. Eyes. What happened to her was… different. Give it some time and Dean'll get his vision back."

"So you're a optha… opta…" Dean frowned and surrendered. Fuck it. "…eye doctor now?"

"I'm the one who just told you you're not gonna need a guide dog to take a piss," Bobby growled, sliding a beer across the table and into the curve of Dean's hand. "How about a little less smartass and a little more gratitude."

"Appreciate the beer." Lifting the bottle, Dean tipped it in the direction of Bobby's voice and took a long swallow.

A heavy book slid across the table. "Only the glory of God is permanent? That could be metaphor."

"Sam, look at your brother," Bobby snapped. "Is he freaking out? Is he moaning and complaining about how his life is over and he can't wipe your ass for you anymore? No. I guarantee he's seeing more now than he was when you left the convent. I just told him what he already knew."

Dean heard Sam draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Weird how he could hear betrayal in an exhale. "Dean, is that true."

"I can see light and shadows," Dean admitted now that he'd been busted. Out and out lying to Sam had never been part of the plan. He pointed the bottle across the room. "I know there's a window there and I'm pretty sure that shadow is you sitting down…" Frowning again, he moved the bottle until it pointed at the blob of darkness against the square of light. "Although it could be Bobby standing up." There was a sudden shriek of chair against linoleum and the blob got bigger. "No, it was you sitting down. And you leaving the room. Sam!"

But the blob was gone.

"You really think now is a good time to be jackassing around like that?" Bobby sighed. "Go talk to your brother."

"I don't think…"

"You think all the god-damned time, Dean. Both of you do. But you never talk about it; you stay wrapped up inside your own heads and things twist all out of shape and the next thing you know it's the end of the God-damned world. I might have some idea about why you were fucking around like that because _I'm_ neither blind nor stupid but I'm not the one who needs to know. Talk to your brother!"

"You're right." Dean took a deep breath and stood, bracing himself against the chair as light and shadow shifted then settled back into place. "I just don't want to make it worse."

"I'd say you couldn't but we both know you can." The blob that had to be Bobby changed shape and Dean figured he had to be scratching his head. "He's your brother and you love him. Start with that."

"That's… yeah." Taking what was left of his beer seemed like a good idea. With the other hand still on the back of his chair, he turned and moved toward the hall. "Ow!"

"Door's six inches left."

His eyes watered from the impact but when he blinked away the tears, a little more of the world came back into focus. He could just barely make out the molding around the kitchen door, six inches from his nose. "Thanks, Bobby, very helpful."

Bobby's answering grunt sounded almost amused. "He's on the porch. Second step's busted; I'd have heard him leave."

Aiming for the rectangle of light in the distance, Dean walked slowly and carefully down the hall until his out-stretched fingers touched the screen door. He got it open without any trouble, stepped out onto the warped boards of the porch, and snapped his right hand up over his eyes, the sunlight nearly blinding him again.

The ancient wooden chair Bobby'd left out there to rot, creaked as something heavy shifted position.

"Sam?"

No answer. But the creaking stopped.

Fine. Peering between his fingers, Dean headed for the vertical shadow that had to be the post holding up the porch roof. It was closer to the edge than he remembered and he almost lost his beer when he stumbled off the top step but he caught himself and used the post to swing himself up and around until he was sitting with one butt cheek on the railing, facing the chair. He could see Sam only as a darker shadow against the shadow of the house.

He took a swallow of beer and rubbed the cool bottle over the back of his neck. It was exactly as hard as he'd thought it would be to get started, although not being able to see Sam's face helped and he wasted a minute or two wondering why they always tried to talk about the hard stuff leaning on the car by the side of the road instead of in the sheltering dark of an anonymous hotel room. Finally, he took a deep breath and stuck to the script. "You're my brother and I love you."

Sam made a noise caught somewhere between impatience and relief.

"I didn't tell you I was starting to see stuff again because as long as you were freaking out about me, you weren't freaking out about you." It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan.

"That's so…"

"I know you, Sam," Dean interrupted. "The moment you got a chance to think about it, you were going to blame yourself for breaking the last seal and freeing Lucifer. The last thing I wanted was for you to start carrying more guilt than you were already carrying. Hauling ass away from the Prince of Darkness seemed more important than having a heart to heart, so I let you think I was blind as a distraction from the guilt. Although, technically, at the time, I was blind; things didn't start improving until we'd been on the road for a couple of hours, but that's not the point. I'm sorry about not telling you and I'm sorry for the way that made you feel but it's better than the alternative"

"Dean…"

He held up the bottle. "No. Let me finish. It's guilt that fucks us over every time, you and me. I was feeling so guilty over what I'd done in Hell, I couldn't see what had happened to you. I was so wrapped up in it my own shit, I wasn't there when you needed me. I lashed out and I didn't listen and I'm sorry for that too. You were in a bad place and that bitch knew exactly what buttons to push. She got in under your skin and she twisted your guilt and your anger around until the only voice you could hear was hers."

"I could hear you."

"What?"

"At the end…" Sam's voice was rough. Breaking. "…Ruby was yelling at me, telling me to do it. I could see her lips moving but all I could hear was you yelling my name. She was right beside me and you were on the other side of a two inch thick oak door and I could hear you, not her, and you didn't sound like you hated…" On the last word, his voice broke beyond use and the noise he made pulled Dean off the railing.

He stumbled across the porch, slammed into the edge of the chair, and dropped to his knees as Sam fell forward, catching him, holding him, while Sam buried his face against Dean's chest and fell apart.

Dean wasn't sure what Sam was mourning. Mother, father, lovers, brother -- Sam'd lost them all and sucked it up and moved on, the way Winchesters did. This was different, more personal. This was…

…loss of self.

"Oh Christ, Sammy, no. You're here and I'm here and we don't need more than that. You and me, that's the way it is, yeah?" He couldn't remember the last time Sam had felt so small. Or maybe he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt big enough to do what needed to be done. Probably not since he'd been told he'd have to kill his brother if he got out of hand.

Fuck that.

Time got a little weird for a while and maybe the top of Sam's head wasn't exactly dry when he finally drew in a shaky breath and pushed away out of the circle of Dean's arms, leaving a large wet spot behind.

One hand on Sam's arm, unwilling to lose the contact, Dean touched the wet spot with the other and sighed. "Dude, you got snot on my shirt."

"Yeah?" Sam's arm shifted, reaching up. "Well, you got snot in my hair."

Dean grinned. "So I win, right?" Groaning a little, he straightened his legs and sagged back against the house. Sam settled beside him, their shoulders touching, all the crap that had been between them for so long no longer in the way. It was still around; Dean didn't doubt that for a minute. The kind of crap they tended to gather took more than a few manly tears and a bucket load of snot to banish but, as long as they faced it together, he had no doubt they could kick its ass.

"I did it though," Sam said quietly. "I broke the final seal and I freed Lucifer."

"Yeah, you did."

Dean could hear a bird singing. Bobby answering the phone inside the house. The heel of his boot creaking against the porch floor as he rocked his foot back and forth.

"That's not very comforting," Sam said at last.

"You weren't yourself."

"I…"

"You were no more yourself then, than I was when I climbed off that rack and picked up a blade. We'd been broken, Sammy. Hell, we've been broken more than once and we never seem to get a chance to put ourselves together. We just suck it up and move on."

Sam snorted softly. "It's the Winchester way."

"Well, fuck that. Not this time it isn't." He waved a hand in front of his face and frowned at the flickering shadow it created. "Lucifer just booked us some time off."

"Yeah, well, you can't stay here."

Dean felt Sam move beside him, knew he was wiping his face so Bobby wouldn't see he'd been crying. Except his eyes were probably puffy and his nose was likely red so it wasn't like Bobby couldn't draw the correct conclusion. Dean rubbed his nose on his sleeve and waited for the explanation he knew had to be coming.

"Demons are talking," Bobby sighed. From the creaking, he'd taken up Dean's old position on the railing. Dean shifted until he could see the older man's silhouette. "They're telling hunters that Sam Winchester freed Lucifer."

"Demons are talking to hunters?"

"Talking. Taunting. Amounts to the same thing though; you boys have to disappear for a while until Dean's eyes are healed and you're capable of defending yourselves."

"From hunters." There was an undertone to Sam's voice that said he almost believed he deserved to be hunted. Dean closed his fingers around his brother's wrist, skin to skin.

"On the bright side," Bobby snorted, "they're going to be so busy dealing with the end of the world, they won't be concentrating on you two. But they will be coming by here. It's like I'm running a God damned information booth," he added under his breath. "Anyway, I've got a bolt hole up in the mountains. It's off the grid and the road's rough but you should be able to get the car in. No one ever knew about it 'cept me and your father, and I'll say this much for the son of a bitch, he could keep a secret. You boys can lay low and talk some more." His tone made it clear that was not a suggestion. "Meanwhile, I'll be doing damage control. Letting people know what actually happened."

Sam's pulse jumped under Dean's fingertips. "And what would that be?"

"You watched your only family being ripped apart by hellhounds and that knocked you a bit off the tracks. Then that demon bitch showed up and took advantage of your pain and got you so mixed up you didn't know if you were comin' or goin'."

"So, you're going convince them I'm weak."

All their lives, they'd been told they had to be strong. It was why _weak_ had been the word Sam had used like a weapon while they'd been fighting. Dean hung on as Sam tried to pull his hand free.

"No, Sam…"

Sam's pulse beat even faster. Dean stroked the soft skin of his wrist trying to calm him, wishing he could see Bobby's face.

"…I'm gonna remind them you're human."

 

***

As Dean walked slowly from the house to the car -- aiming for the glistening black outline of his baby, boots scuffing through the gravel to keep him on the drive -- he could hear Sam listening to the message he'd left when he'd been stuck in Heaven's gilded cage. Hands touched down against the sun-warmed metal and he shuffled sideways until he bumped up against Sam's side. Turning to where he was pretty sure Sam's face was -- his _head_ he could find, his _face_ was a little trickier -- he frowned and said, "That's the first time you listened to that, isn't it?" Lucky guess. Intuition. Maybe in all the ways that mattered he still knew Sam better than he knew himself. He felt Sam start to shift away and grabbed his jacket. "Sammy…"

Sam sucked in air like it hurt him to breathe. "On the way… before… I saw it was from you and I listened to it then. But that -- this isn't what you said."

"I only left one message, Sam, then the fucking angels cut me off. That's what I said."

Dean could almost hear the wheels turning as Sam worked out what had to have happened.

"I think Ruby made me hear what she wanted me to hear. What she needed me to hear so I'd keep doing what she wanted me to do."

"And that would be? Never mind," he amended as Sam tensed up and tried to jerk away. "I don't want to know. I don't want you thinking about it because it wasn't me. And I really, really want to kill that bitch again. Now…" Releasing his grip, he smacked Sam's shoulder. "…let's hit the road before Bobby has company and I have to kick someone's ass."

"And that'd just be embarrassing; some grizzled old hunter having their ass kicked by a blind man."

"Damned right." Warm fingers closed around his wrist and Sam gently lowered his hand until he touched the door handle. He'd have protested if Sam had taken the guide dog thing any further, but he just squeezed once then went around to the driver's side, leaving Dean to get into the car on his own.

He wasn't exactly comfortable in the passenger seat and it was weird watching light and shadow flicker by, trying to find substance in blurry shapes. By the time they hit the interstate, Dean had closed his eyes in self defense and drifted off to sleep.

_"Sam Winchester is mine." Lucifer's features kept shifting. Now a bearded blond. Now a smooth cheeked brunet. Now glossy black hair. Blue eyes. Green eyes. Brown eyes. "He is my chosen one."_

_"Yeah, well he's my brother. You can't have him."_

_"Brothers grow up and move away, Dean. Live their own lives. Meet pretty girls." A dark brow arched.. "Or Princes of Hell. You know how it is."_

_"It isn't that way with Sammy."_

_"Admittedly, the pretty girl thing never works out that well for him but, then again, that's all in the past. We belong together, Sam and I."_

_Taking a swing at Lucifer was probably not the smartest thing he'd ever done but, Lord of Hell or not, the guy had no business trying to mack on his brother._

"Dean?"

"Wha…?" At first he thought his vision had gotten worse, then he realized the sun had dropped behind the mountains. Not that he could see the mountains but he could make out the shape of the dashboard so he counted that as a win. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long."

"You needed it."

"Yeah? And you knew that because?"

"You slept through _Fall Out Boys_."

"Thank God." When he shifted in the seat, his stomach growled. "I'm starving." He shifted again. "And I have to piss so bad my back teeth are floating."

"Classy. We're just about to Carlise. Bobby said we turn just past the diner so…"

"So there's a diner."

"So there's a diner," Sam agreed.

By the time Sam got the car parked, the bladder thing needed to be dealt with immediately.

"How do you want to do this?" Sam asked, his hand closing around Dean's elbow as Dean got out of the car. And if he stumbled a little it was only because he wasn't used to exiting to the right.

"Same way I always do, Sammy. Point and shoot." The parking lot had crap lighting. He couldn't see a thing. "Is there a bush around?"

"You're not pissing on a bush, Dean. I meant, do you hold onto me or do I hold onto you?"

Dean's mind flicked back to Sam safe in the circle of his arms…

"Dean?"

He really, really needed to eat. And piss. "I hold you." He shifted back and tucked his hand into the crock of Sam's arm. "And we play it for all it's worth."

"We what?"

"Guys who have temporarily blurry vision get squat, Sam, but blind guys get perks." Pulling his sunglasses from his jacket pocket, he slipped them on and almost yanked them off again when they blocked what minimal sight he'd regained. He found a smile from somewhere and plastered it on. "They get to touch stuff."

Sam must've bent his head because Dean could feel warm breath against his ear. "The waitress looks like she's two years past retirement."

He was pretty sure Sam couldn't see him shiver. "Okay, _other_ stuff."

Once they got inside, the diner lights were bright enough he was glad he'd put the glasses on. He thought he'd handled it well, head up, step confident, not giving a half eaten rat's ass about the stares he could feel but when they got to the men's room, Sam set him up at a urinal and backed away.

"I've got the door. No one's coming in."

To stare at the blind guy fumbling for his dick. Dean hadn't realized how much not being stared at meant until he felt the knots in his back loosen. "Smells like I'm not the only directionally challenged guy who uses this place."

"Just aim for the middle, dead center, that way if you miss a little you'll still hit something."

Dean grinned, suddenly remembering the furnished apartment in Butte, Montana, the video of _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ the last tenant had left behind and the two of them curled up on an ugly ass, green sofa watching it over and over and over. "Dude, my line! I'm Sundance, I have always been Sundance."

"You're pissing on your boot."

"Fuck you." He could hear it hitting the urinal. When he finished and tucked himself away, Sam's hand was back on his arm.

"Sink's this way."

"Sammy, if you're pissing on your hands, you need to learn to aim better."

"If you plan on eating in the same state as me, you're washing."

Dean sighed as Sam moved his hand under the soap dispenser. "Hell should thank me for hauling your anal retentive ass back from the throne," he muttered.

Maybe it was too soon to joke about that.

"Is that what you think you did?" Sam asked softly. He sounded about as weary as Dean felt but he also sounded like he really wanted to know.

Dean shifted so they were facing each other and pressed his wet palm lightly against Sam's chest. "No, that's not what I think I did. You made your own decision there at the end. I just showed up in time to use the knife."

"You sure?"

"Am I sure about you? Yeah."

"You weren't. All this last year, since you came back…" Under Sam's carefully neutral tone, Dean could hear anger and yeah, more betrayal.

A diner shitter, halfway up into the mountains was not the place to be having this conversation. "I thought that if I could do what I did then why wouldn't you want to crown yourself Boy King of Hell? Like I said, Sam, guilt fucks us up. You got off your rack and you did what you had to stop the pain but, when it came right down to it, you couldn't follow through. And it wasn't because I was there at the end." He laid his other palm beside the first. "It was because _you_ were."

He heard Sam swallow. Felt Sam take a deep breath. Felt Sam's heart begin to beat faster.

And then, because a diner shitter was _really_ not the place for this, he wiped his hands dry on Sam's jacket.

Outside in the diner, the waitress, who'd been giving another customer hell for spilling syrup on the table, softened her voice when she spoke to them. One moment, she sounded like she could take on a three hundred pound trucker in a bare knuckle fight and win and the next she sounded like someone's grandmother. The kind who baked cookies and knit mittens, not the kind who sacrificed the neighbor's youngest on an altar in the basement.

If he'd actually been blind, Dean would have found her pity really fucking annoying. Given that he was playing her for extra fries, he figured he had no reason to complain.

When she put the food down, the contrast was high enough between the white plate and the red table that he could tell where it was, he just couldn't tell which blobby brown splotch was his cheeseburger and which was his fries and he suddenly didn't want a room full of strangers watch him grope for his food.

Then Sam reached across the table, shifted the plate slightly, and separated a small brown blob from the rest. "Burger's on your right," he said quietly.

While the fingers of one hand closed around the burger, Dean swatted at Sam with the other. "Eat your own damned fries, bitch."

"Jerk."

He was smiling so broadly, he had to dial it back to eat.

In all fairness, he was really fucking hungry which was why it took him about half the meal to realize the vibration he could feel came from Sam's leg jigging up and down under the table. Stretching his own leg out, he pressed it up against Sam's, followed when Sam tried to move away, left it there until the jigging slowed and finally stopped.

Killing Lilith might have burned out all the demon blood in Sam's system but it seemed the addiction still had to be dealt with.

Pitching his voice under the diner's background noise, Dean asked, "You jonesing for a fix?"

"Jesus, Dean, who talks like that?"

"Just answer the question, Sam." He had Sam's leg trapped between his and the wall, could feel the heat rising through two layers of denim but Sam had always been a furnace so Dean didn't think he was running a fever.

"I'm okay."

"Winchester okay or real world okay?"

Sam snorted but, after a long moment, reluctantly said, "Winchester okay."

As Sam's other leg started to move, Dean pressed up against that too. Two legs no waiting. He stared intently just to the left of the pale-under-dark blob of Sam's face. "You need me to drive?"

Sam's shout of laughter sounded almost surprised, like it'd been too long since he'd made that particular noise. "No. I'm good."

"Yeah, you are."

He had a feeling he'd sounded a little more… well, _more_ than he'd intended given that the silence from the other side of the table was damned near deafening.

Still not the place to have that conversation.

Dean twisted his mouth up into a smirk and, just to keep the situation from becoming any more awkward, knocked a full cup of coffee into his lap.

The waitress arrived immediately with napkins.

 

***

"I'm telling you, she copped a feel."

"So you keep telling me, Dean."

"Dude, unclench before you crack a tooth. And maybe I keep mentioning it because I'd like a little sympathy. I mean, first, hot coffee in the crotch -- which, by the way, is still wet."

"You could have changed."

"Where? In the parking lot?"

"Why not?" From the slight rise in volume, Sam had turned to look at him. It was so dark in the car, Dean could see the glow of lights on the dash and that was it. "You made me change jeans in the parking lot of a Wall-Mart because I spilled a latte on my lap."

"It was a latte. Gave me the creeps just having it in the car in the cup. Having it spread out over your junk…" He waved a hand. "Just, no. And second…" He ignored Sam's sigh. "…an old lady hand rubbed the 12 gauge through the jeans, with intent. That is so not cool. I'm scarred for life."

"After everything we've been through, _that_ scars you for life?"

"Molested by a senior citizen."

"Let it go."

"Groped by a granny."

"Dean…"

"I'm just saying."

Sam sighed again. "What would you like me to do, Dean? Kiss it better?"

There were a dozen responses Dean could make to that, a dozen variations on _bite me, bitch_ but he waited too long and the moment passed. And then the next moment. And then the next. And this time, he didn't have a cup of coffee to spill and…

"Jesus fucking Christ on crutches, Sam!" The oil pan scraped against rock as the car lurched from one rut to another. "Keep your eyes on the God damned road!"

"It's not a road, it's fucking deer trail."

"So keep your eyes on the fucking deer trail!" Dean snapped. "I'm sorry, baby," he added as he grabbed for the dash to avoid smacking his face against it. "Soon as it's light, he's going over every inch of your undercarriage with his tongue."

"We're almost at the co-ordinates, Bobby gave us. Cabin's likely just through those trees."

"Here's a thought… Fuck, Sam!" he swore as branches scraped at the car. "…try going around the trees instead of through them!"

In answer, Sam hit the brakes and turned off the engine. In the sudden silence, Dean heard the steering wheel creak under Sam's grip.

"Sam?"

"We're here."

The cabin turned out to be one big rectangle with an airlock entry on one side and a door leading out to a woodhouse built into the side of the mountain on the other. There was an outhouse, a sink with a pump attached, and big ass woodstove in the middle of the north wall. Furniture consisted of a table and three chairs, sofa and armchair that were probably older than both of them combined, a bookcase -- because this was Bobby's bolt hole after all -- and a double bed up against the wall in the far corner from the door.

Given how moody Sam had gotten, Dean made him describe the whole damned thing.

"Now, it's kind of a given that the blind guy should get the bed," he said, standing with one hand gripping the counter by the sink. He could see the lantern moving around but that was it and if he was going to provide chuckles by going ass over tip, he was going to save them for when needed. "But I slept in the car so you take it tonight and we'll renegotiate in the morning."

Off in the dark, Sam grunted something that didn't sound like an argument. Nor did it sound like an observation that the sofa was between the bed and both doors. Which gave Dean some indication of just how exhausted he was. He'd gone off the deep end, filled up on demon blood, freed Lucifer, realized he'd been played by the demon chick he was fucking, hauled Dean's ass out of the convent, driven to Bobby's, had an emotional breakdown, driven into the mountains... Not the first time one or both of them had gone more than 48 hours without sleep, but Sam had a busy two days.

"I tossed a couple of blankets on the couch." The lantern bobbed closer, then Sam's hand gripped his shoulder. "Come on, I'll take you over."

There was a small but solid table between the couch and the chair. Dean hit it with both shins.

"Son of a fucking bitch!"

"Sorry."

But he sounded satisfied.

"Checking to see if I'm still blind, Sammy? That's fair. I admitted I was using it to distract you so, I could be lying about still not being able to see. Of course, now I'm crippled so that's going to complicate things…"

"Oh for fucksake, you're not crippled!" It sounded like Sam was a little closer to running out of rope than Dean had thought.

A big hand closed around his arm and moved him sideways until he bumped considerably more gently up against the edge of the sofa. He teetered, just a bit, but Sam steadied him. There wasn't much room between the table and the sofa and Dean realized suddenly that, shoulder to knee, his body was in contact with Sam's. He didn't want to move away, he wanted to move closer.

Wanted to prove they'd erased the distance between them.

Wanted to erase the last of the distance between them.

Wanted…

He sat down, Sam releasing him at the last possible moment. He tried not to read too much into the way Sam had held on. "Get some sleep, Sammy. We'll talk about stuff in the morning."

"Stuff?" The lantern, and presumably Sam, moved away toward the bed.

"Bobby gave me a list."

The bed creaked ominously but the lack of crash suggested it managed to hold Sam's weight. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, he also wants us to make smores and braid each other's hair." The sofa sagged in the middle and smelled like small animals had wintered in it. "Go to sleep."

Dean could have sworn he'd only just closed his eyes when sunlight pouring through the cabin windows woke him. The smell of baking cookies drew him up off the sofa. He glanced over at the bed, saw Sam was still asleep, and frowned as he realized they'd gone to sleep without setting wards or salt lines or even getting the weapons out of the trunk. How many times had he heard their father say…

"The difference between tired and stupid is dead."

"Dad?"

John Winchester set the clean mixing bowl on the drain board then turned from the sink. "Bobby keeps this place pretty well stocked so I thought I'd do some baking while I waited."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming because, well, _cookies_."

"Your mother's idea."

Stumbling across to the table, Dean pulled out a chair and sat. "Mom's…?"

"Good. Wants to come back and help but…" John shrugged. "Anyway, about Hell."

"Yeah, Hell." Dean followed a gouge in the tabletop with the edge of his thumbnail. This was a conversation he'd never wanted to have. John Winchester had been tortured for a hundred years and told Hell to go fuck itself. He'd barely made thirty before he climbed down and spent ten years in the demonic junior league. He knew exactly what his father was going to say.

"When you made that deal, Hell went nuts."

Dean's gaze snapped up to find John staring at the floor. Okay, maybe he didn't know _exactly_ what his father was going to say.

"They damned near threw a party," John continued, his gaze locked on the worn linoleum. "Every demon in the place must've come by to tell me about it. Your son's coming down, John. Your oldest boy is heading for Hell. And it was all my fault."

"Oh yeah, Dad." Dean barely managed to spit out the words. "Because it's all about you."

John looked up at that and shrugged. "If I'd been strong enough to let you go, well, trust me, Dean, you wouldn't have ended up in Hell. But when I heard how long you lasted? I was so proud of you. "

And damned if he didn't look proud. Maybe he hadn't heard the rest of it. "I got off the rack, Dad. I got off the rack and I picked up a knife. You proud of that too?"

John's mouth twisted into something that wasn't even remotely a smile. "Hell breaks everyone."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

"Do you know why they couldn't break me, Dean? Because I was already as broken as it was possible to get and still function. Christ, son, if Hell can't break you, there's something terribly wrong. You still had hopes and dreams and fears and regrets and someone waiting up above who loved you more than life itself. I had none of those things."

"Don't put that on us!" Both Dean's hands curled into fists without him willing the motion. "Sam and me, as fucked up as this family is, we loved you!"

"I know." He did smile then and Dean almost hated how much it meant. "But you didn't go to the crossroad for me."

Dean looked down at the table, gouged a bit more of the curve, looked up again. "I always figured you'd rip me a new one for throwing away the life you died to save."

"Is that what you thought?" John shook his head, fussed with the edge of his apron, finally said, "Look, I know I wasn't a great father -- your mother, your grandparents, half the Heavenly fucking host and most of Hell have all pointed that out -- but I'm not so much a hypocrite that I'd let into you for doing exactly what I did."

"The last time you were this reasonable," Dean reminded him, "you were possessed."

"Would it help if I said you need to get your head out of your ass about your brother? Because you've got it shoved up there so far it's cut off all oxygen to your brain. You need to…"

"No." Dean stood, hand raised. "You don't get to tell me what I need to do. Not anymore. And definitely not about Sam. We spent our whole lives putting ourselves back together and doing a piss poor job of it. We've sewed and cauterized and bandaged and never touched the real damage we've taken. We've been bleeding to death since we were kids and it's time we stopped."

"So stop!" John snapped. "But you need to be careful!"

"Of what, Dad?" He matched his father's tone. "Specifically?"

"Think, boy! I was dead for ten months, in Hell for a hundred years. You were dead for four, in Hell for forty."

"Yeah? And?" Oh crap. His vision was going out again, the cabin starting to fade into the contrast between light and dark.

"Sam was dead for almost forty-eight hours."

Dean rubbed his eyes. It didn't help. "So?"

"Hell breaks everyone, Dean."

And the world went dark.

Dean jerked up on the sofa, clutching the blanket. He heard a noise like someone was swallowing shards of glass.

Sam.

Sam was making that noise.

The cabin was so dark, Dean had no idea if his vision had gotten any better. Not that it mattered, the lantern was over by Sam. He kicked free of the blanket and stood. Shuffled along the sofa until he was at the end nearest the bed then launched himself across the gap. He banged into the end of the mattress, put a hand down on Sam's ankle, and almost got kicked in the face.

"Shhh, Sammy, it's okay. It's me."

Sam kept making the same pained, painful noises as Dean made his way up to the head of the bed. "Come on, Sammy. Wake up." Grabbing Sam's shoulder, he shook it gently, ready to block if Sam decided to fight him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I've got you." Sam's t-shirt was wet through and his skin was clammy.

"I was dreaming?"

Dean sure as hell hoped so but given the way the night had been going for him, he wasn't willing to put money on it. "Yeah. Move over."

"What?"

"Recovering blind man here, remember? How am I supposed to get my healing sleep in if you keep waking me up." Lifting the blanket, he stretched out along the edge of the bed then shoved at Sam. "Come on. Move."

"We can't…"

"We can. We are. Shut up." Two large men -- well, one large man, one freakishly large man -- lying on their backs in a double bed meant their inside arms were touching shoulder to wrist.

"I'll go sleep on the sofa."

When Sam started to sit up, Dean rolled toward him and flung an arm across his chest shoving him back down against the mattress. "No, you won't. You always sleep better after nightmares if we're in the same bed."

"We haven't done that since I was twelve."

"Yeah, well, now we're doing it again."

Breathing like he'd just run a race, Sam closed a hand around Dean's arm and said, "I need…"

"To sleep." Dean could feel Sam's heart pounding. "Right now, you need to sleep. You're exhausted. Tomorrow…"

"Is another day?"

"If we're lucky." With Sam's hand warm around his arm, he listened to Sam's breathing gentle and his heartbeat slow.

"Dean?"

"You want me to tell you a story? Once upon a time, there were seven hookers who lived in a house in the woods…"

"Fuck off. I just…" In spite of the complete absence of light, he could all but see Sam frowning. "Do I smell cookies?"

"Christ, I hope not."

***

Barely awake, Dean found himself staring at the way the thick fringe of Sam's lashes lay against the curve of his cheek and realized the upcoming apocalypse might not be the worst of his problems. He seemed to be turning into a thirteen year old girl. Seriously, eye lashes? He was fixating on eye lashes when he could be looking at shoulders or hands or the long line of…

Which was when he realized, he could see clearly up to about a foot away. The world got distinctly fuzzy after that but up close and personal was fine.

And given that he was plastered up against his brother's body, zipper of his jeans digging into his morning wood, staring at Sam's eyelashes and not freaking out, he seemed to have come to terms with this thing between them. He supposed he had Hell to thank for that. Nothing like forty years of torture to put wanting to bone your brother in perspective. He made a mental note not to mention that revelation to Sam.

Who from the looks of the purple shadows under his eyes, needed to get a few hours more sleep no matter how much Dean wanted to wake him up and...

Talk.

Sliding out from under the blankets, Dean made his way slowly and carefully across the cabin until he tripped over his boots and slammed into the cupboard by the sink. Sam made a quiet snuffling noise but didn't wake.

John Winchester was not at the stove baking cookies.

"And I most sincerely thank God for that," Dean muttered. Keeping one hand on the wall -- straight ahead, left turn, right turn, right turn -- he carried his boots to the outhouse where he put them on. A closer inspection than he really enjoyed making determined that the wooden toilet seat had protection runes carved into it.

Dean wasted a minute or two wondering what Bobby'd thought was going to crawl up from a shit pit and then decided he didn't actually want to know. The concept was pretty damned effective at taking care of his erection though and very nearly sent him outside to pee on a bush.

He desperately wanted a cup of coffee but he wasn't going to go banging around in Bobby's supplies while Sam was sleeping. He still couldn't see well enough to do it quietly so he'd just have to wait. Finding a big old log out in front of the cabin -- mostly by falling over it -- he stripped off his shirt, and leaned back against it to soak up a little sun.

Two hours later, when he heard the door to the cabin open and a Sam-shaped blur wandered outside, he was ready to chew his own arm off. As soon Sam got close enough that Dean could see what he was carrying, any doubts about the future that might have come up during his wait were banished to the pit.

"If there's coffee in that mug, I will buy you a pony."

"A pony?"

"First thing that came into my head." He made gimmie motions.

"The inside of your head is a thirteen year old girl?" Sam snorted, stepping into range and holding out the mug in his right hand.

"Apparently."

Sam made a questioning noise when Dean's fingers wrapped around the mug without guidance but Dean had to take a long swallow before he could respond. And then another because the first tasted so good. By the time he finished the second mouthful of coffee, Sam had settled down beside him.

"About a foot from my face, I can see fine," he explained, turning and realizing Sam had also stripped off his shirt and there was enough Sam sitting there that the edges were distinctly blurry. "I uh…" Another mouthful of coffee helped. "Things get less clear the further away they are."

"Maybe you need glasses," Sam said thoughtfully.

"My eyes are fine!"

"Except for the whole partially blind thing."

"Doesn't count." He tipped his head into the breeze. "I don't smell smoke. You get the woodstove going?"

"No, Bobby has a little one burner camp stove and about ten years worth of sterno." Sam shifted, his bare shoulder brushing against Dean's. "Doesn't look like Lucifer's free, does it?"

"Not a foot from my face."

"Right, sorry." He shifted again, and Dean turned in time to see Sam's hand come into focus as he lightly touched the tip of his fingers to Dean's neck.

"Sam?"

"I did this." Then he curled his hand around Dean's throat, thumb hooking over the Adam's apple. His hand was cool against Dean's sun-warmed skin and his fingers trembled.

The bruising had been more red than purple the one time Dean had seen it. Standing in front of the sink at Bobby's, staring at his reflection and wondering how things had gotten so bad. The bruises Sam aligned his fingers against were probably purple and green by now. He could feel his dick responding to the pressure of Sam's hand and that was a little more than even Hell's perspective could deal with, so he set his mug down, brought his arm up, and knocked Sam's hand away.

Tried to knock Sam's hand away.

Sam tightened his grip. "I wanted to kill you. I really did. I remember thinking that since you came back, you hadn't really seen me. You'd looked but you'd looked right past what was there and I thought at least I'd get to be the last thing you saw before you died."

Heart pounding, Dean slammed his elbow into Sam's side. Sam grunted, hooked a leg through Dean's and dragged them both away from the log, rolling once. Then Sam was kneeling over him, legs bracketing Dean's hips. One hand still around Dean's throat, the other holding both Dean's hands above his head.

Dean tensed, ready to curl up and hook his feet under Sam's armpits then he caught sight of Sam's expression and he stopped fighting. "We're past this, Sammy."

"What?"

"Why did you stop? If you wanted to be the last thing I saw before I died, why did you stop?"

"Because…" Sam frowned. "…you're my brother and I didn't want you to die."

"But you wanted to kill me."

He shook his head. "No. I wanted you to see me."

"I see you. Now, see me."

Almost panting, and not from the minimal exertion their truncated fight had taken, Sam moved his hand from Dean's throat to cup his face. "Because it's all about you."

"No, you ass…" It hurt, a lot, to have the words he'd thrown at Dad thrown back at him but given what he'd said to Sam, he supposed he was due. "…it's all about us. That's the only way it works, when we're an us, and we're not leaving this God damned mountain until we're an us again. I need you to help me put myself back together, Sam, and you need me…"

Sam pressed his thumb over Dean's mouth, cutting him off. He dragged the pad of his thumb over Dean's upper lip, across the gap, and used the pressure against Dean's lower lip to pull his mouth slightly open. His eyes tracked the motion and, if anything, he looked confused.

Dean sighed and gave a little buck just to get Sam's attention. "Sammy. Look at me."

"I am…"

"See me."

His eyes wide, Sam lowered his head until he was breathing the words against Dean's mouth. "Tell me you want this."

"I want this." He was starting to understand why Bobby kept calling them idiots.

Then Sam lowered his mouth the rest of the way and Dean stopped thinking about Bobby. Stopped thinking about anything except how he never wanted Sam to stop kissing him. And son of a bitch, if he didn't actually feel a couple of broken pieces of his soul snap into place as Sam let go of his wrists and he could finally run his hands all over the warm expanse of Sam's torso -- shoulders, chest, sides, back, arms… He couldn't settle in one place, he wanted it all. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of Sam's jeans, he hauled him closer.

Sam fell against him with a grunt and fuck, he was heavy, but that didn't matter, his weight held all Dean's pieces in place and when Dean finally worked a hand between them, he found Sam's hand already there.

He almost came when Sam shoved in through his open fly. Almost came at the curl of Sam's fingers around his dick but he held on, fumbling with Sam's zipper until he could wrap his hand around Sam's length and they could move together.

They weren't kissing now, just mashing their mouths together, breathing each other's air, catching moans and whimpers and swallowing them for safety. Sam's knuckles brushed against his stomach as he twisted his hand, callous caught, and Dean teetered on the edge.

He opened his eyes, didn't remember closing them, saw Sam staring at him like he was the answer to every question Sam had ever asked, and came harder than he could remember coming in his life. Sam's eyes widened, then he slammed his hips forward, driving his dick through the circle of Dean's fingers once, twice…

…and Dean felt a rush of heat against his stomach that made his dick twitch again inside Sam's grip.

Sam rolled to the side as he collapsed and panted, "That was…"

"Unusually fast." Even without looking, Dean knew Sam was smiling. He looked anyway. And yeah, there it was. Eighteen or twenty-four inches away and he could still see it. He wasn't even convinced his vision had gotten that much better; it was just Sam. Smiling.

"So you and me…" Sam waved a hand, paused, then wiped the spunk covering it on his jeans. "…we're…?"

"Lying on an anthill!" Kind of impressed by how quickly he'd gone from post-coital to vertical, Dean held his jeans up with one hand and slapped at himself with the other. "If there's a flame thrower in that woodshed, I'm toasting your little ant asses! And as thrilled as I am that you're laughing," he snarled at Sam, "because not a lot of that happening lately, I'm toasting your ass next!"

"Hold still." Sam wrapped one hand around Dean's shoulder and ran the other down his body like a blade, flicking ants away. "You know, the sun is shining, the birds are singing… "

Dean clearly heard, "I just gave my brother a hand job," in the pause.

"…it doesn't seem like the end of the world."

Dean shrugged and did up his jeans when Sam stepped back and declared him ant free. "Lucifer may need a couple of days to get up to speed. Whole lot of new sins to deal with."

Sam stared at him in astonishment. At least Dean thought it was astonishment, sometimes on Sam it was hard to tell. "So it seems."

"Sammy…"

"No, not this. This is… this was, just _us_."

"You going to freak out about it?"

"Maybe later," he admitted. "Maybe not. This isn't really new, is it? I think we were inevitable whatever else we call it." Then he ran a hand back through his hair and Dean sighed.

"But?"

"The demon blood, I still want it. And you being blind, that isn't going to be enough of a distraction when I really start…"

"Jonesing?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Dean winked at him. "I can be plenty distracting."

"I'm sure."

"You don't sound sure."

"Dean…"

Reaching up, Dean threaded his fingers through Sam's hair and pulled until their mouths met. Neither of them closed their eyes.


End file.
